


Plea

by Elwyne



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Season/Series 02, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:52:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwyne/pseuds/Elwyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellie struggles to stay afloat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plea

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for S2E1

The words ring in Ellie's head like the reverberation of a blow: Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty.

She leaves the courthouse in a daze. People milling, half-familiar faces, Hardy trying to help, failing. Finally her car. The hum of tires on the road, normally soothing, drones like a swarm of angry bees. Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty. The roar of the engine pulses in time with the pounding in her head. Her stomach roils. Oncoming traffic becomes a blur. Dizzy, sick, Ellie pulls to the side of the road. Her gorge begins to rise; fumbling with her seat belt she staggers out of the car just in time.

Waves crash on the beach. Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty. Cool air eases her nausea, but the wind stings her eyes. Tears bathe cheeks already chapped by too much salt. In her pocket the phone vibrates insistently: Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty. She takes it out, recognizes Hardy's number, drops it back with a sigh. She's late already to pick up Fred; she doesn't want to know what Hardy wants.

Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty. Joe's eyes gaze up from her baby's face, full of goodness and laughter and love. Closing her own she holds him close. Knowing she has already failed: children, friends, job, no hope for any of them. I'm sorry, she murmurs silently. My poor innocent child, what kind of life have we made for you? Swallowing grief she feeds him, bathes him, puts him to bed, pretending as best she can. He smiles, cherub-cheeked, immune to the poison in her heart. She smiles in return.

Alone, late at night, in a still-unfamiliar room, the television murmurs: Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty. Her phone lies still on the borrowed table. Who would call? She turns off the box and sits in the silent, disapproving dark. A pain in her chest, like a great weight slowly crushing her heart. Is this what Hardy feels? she wonders. The hand of God squeezing, snuffing out his life?

Not. Guilty. Not. Guilty. The words echo in her mind as she lies in bed, yearning for sleep to ease her, dreams to carry her away. Instead, gray light blossoms in the window, sunrise indifferent to her misery. Another day of going through the motions. Fred murmurs in his cot; if not for him, she wonders, could she face the world at all?

On the bedside table the phone whirrs against wood. She turns with a sigh and picks it up.

"Hello?"

"Miller." His voice tugs at her like a lifeline in a raging sea. For an instant she considers cutting him off, letting herself drown. Then Fred begins to fuss: Fred, her last hope, last solace, all that keeps her in this life. For Fred she will rise and face the day. For him she will let her old boss help her the only way he can.

"Miller," Hardy repeats, anxious and insistent. "Come at once. I need you."


End file.
